Cupid
by just another harlequin
Summary: Liz's job as a wedding planner has her nicknamed Cupid. Unfortunately when she's asked to help Liam Darcy, she may have just met her match. "What makes you think I can find Darcy a woman to stand him let alone marry him? Have you met him? He's an arrogant, conceited dillhole with stick up his -" Cough. "And he's right behind me isn't he?" A modern P&P.
1. Chapter 1

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO JANE AUSTEN.**

This is a modern Pride and Prejudice fanfic that will be updated alternatively along with Sibling Intervention though at the moment I'm stuck with writer's block with Sibling Intervention…

I don't actually have a scheduled plan for updates for this story as of yet since this chapter is just a set-up/test-the-waters kind of deal, regardless; I hope you guys enjoy it!

As usual, I favor none of the P&P televised or movie-versed versions; I simply love blue eyes on my Mr. Darcy.

And now, onward!

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Cupid

Chapter one

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It was happening today. He could feel it.

Waking from only the minimal effects of a hangover was a sure sign of it, as well as the sight of a naked woman lying beside him, red hair splashed against her back and her face pressed into the pillow. It would have been better if the woman was gone entirely, but hey at least she wasn't attempting to cling to him as a few others had after their little activities the night proceeding.

He rubbed a hand against his face as he rolled onto his side, reaching for his BlackBerry on the nightstand.

A triumphed smirk etched itself onto his lips as the message he'd been waiting for flashed on his screen: **Deal has been sealed and documents sent to the office. He's reading over the formal paperwork as we speak. –J**

Almost whooping for joy, he typed in a response before climbing out of the bed.

Not even glancing at the woman he had shared the night with, he removed himself from the guest bedroom of his lavish penthouse and padded into the hallway to enter his own room.

As was his habit, he never brought the women he picked up for one-time trysts anywhere near his personal sleeping quarters. A romp in his bed of all places was too romantic a rendezvous as he found out during college, for some reason whatever woman he slept with assumed commitment and junk came with being bedded on an actual bed (and by actual, he meant his own).

Besides, it was easier kicking out a one-night stand when they weren't in your personal space. Again, it would make it easier if they would leave on their own, but it can't be helped. He was Liam Darcy after all.

Shutting his bedroom door, he prepared for the day courtesy of his massive en-suite bathroom and well chosen, expensive attire from the wide expanse of his closet.

First, however, was that long awaited shower. And yes, the jets were particularly exhilarating today.

Grooming too, seemed much easier this morning. Not a single nick to his defined and rugged jaw. Yes indeed, a definite sign of a good day to come. Perfect.

Even his eyes, which he saw from the reflection of the mirror, were shining a clear and bright Pacific blue despite how much he drank the night before.

His hair hardly needed more than a hand run through it before he proceeded with his clothing. His shirt was pressed to perfection, not a single crease in sight as he buttoned it up. Liam was in the middle of doing up his Paul Smith tie when there was a knock on the door.

"What is it?"

Estelle, his housekeeper and once-upon-a-time, his nanny, stuck her head in. "Liam, are you still home?"

"As you can plainly see," Liam answered, not even deigning to raise a brow at the elderly woman or even looking her way to fully acknowledge her presence into his room. Giving his tie a final tug, he finally chose to glance at her. "What is it Estelle?"

"The young woman you brought home last night wants to know where you are…"

Liam heaved a sigh. Ah; and here was where it was going to go downhill.

"…shall I tell her you are out already and bring you your morning coffee in here?" Estelle completed, intruding onto his slowly darkening morning with a ray of sunshine.

Gods I love this woman. Liam thought. My morning's going back up.

"If you wouldn't mind being a dear Estelle," he answered, "last night's activities with the aforementioned young woman does not require a repeat."

The elderly lady rolled her eyes, but nodded though he did hear her mutter some rather questionable things in French before she hustled down the hallway to get rid of his overstayed guest.

Shaking his head with a quiet chuckle of amusement, Liam proceeded into the adjoining room to enter his home office. Gathering whatever paperwork he had left atop his desk the afternoon before and briefly scanning his phone's planner as he sat on the genuine leather chair, an incoming call interrupting him.

"Problems Jane," he greeted, not even needing to check Caller ID.

"Of course not sir," came the sedate reply of his personal assistant, "just wondering if I should be expecting any surprises today regarding your extracurricular activities last night."

"Jane; did I or did I just not secure the Goulding account singlehandedly just yesterday?"

"Yes, which gives me more incentive to ask what you were doing last night doesn't it?" She certainly knew her boss well enough to know how he would celebrate securing an account.

Liam gave a dramatic sigh. "Would you like the gory details or -"

"Just a name is fine," she interjected flatly and he suppressed the urge to chuckle. His personal assistant, though as obedient and calm as she was, happened to have little to no stomach for her boss' behavior outside of the office. Despite being the same age as he, Jane Cross was as innocent as a lamb dressed up like a nun at Church.

"Unfortunately I can't recall getting one."

Her reply was as flat as tarmac, "You're joking."

"No," Liam replied, leaning back in his chair with his free hand cradling his head, "It was an in-and-out arrangement."

If Jane would allow herself to be anything less than professional so early in the morning, Liam could have sworn she made a sound of disgust. However, as she was not yet frustrated with his demands and the workload required of her, Jane was as prim and proper as always as she asked, "A phone number, a specific physical characteristic, anything that distinguishes her from countless others so I can keep an eye on any fires she may want to start?"

Liam thought back to the woman in his bed. "Well, she's a red head."

"As you have been favoring for the past few weeks," she stated more to herself than to him as she was most likely writing this down.

"And I believe I met her in the Aqua Longue on Fifth."

"Hm…wasn't that where the Awareness and Prevention Party was being held?"

He paused in thought, attempting to remember the details before the alcohol had settled in. "Yes, I believe that was the one."

"Alright," she answered with some approval, "that does narrow it down -"

"Of course, we hit a few clubs on the Upper West before we made it to my penthouse," he interjected thoughtfully. "You'd think someone who was at a charity event for the sexually abused would be, I don't know, less of a whore?"

"You're certainly one to talk," Jane muttered before clearing her throat, "The extent of your extracurriculars doesn't really concern me Mr. Darcy, beyond ensuring the state of your PR of course."

"That is what I pay you for after all. Good talk Jane."

Before he could disconnect the call, she piqued, "Oh yes, by the way your father is pleased with the figures of the Goulding account. He wants to see you in his office at ten thirty. Be prompt."

Liam didn't bother to answer as he disconnected the call. Leaning further back in his chair, he gave a contented sigh. Yes. Today was his day.

.

Liz awoke to the wails of some tortured indie singer, and the urge to slam her head into a further, more permanent state of unconsciousness was looking more and more appealing with each gritting note the singer shrilled.

Mornings suck, she decided as her closed eyes still managed to be invaded by light.

Groaning, Liz sat up on her bed, rubbing her eyes with her open palm and slamming her other hand against the wall in agitation. If the wall the building was made of was as thin as Liz thought it was, her eighteen year old neighbor Kitty Brandon might have heard her and gotten the hint.

As it was, Kitty seemed more interested in turning the music louder to muffle the pounding noise outside:

"What is that neighbor of mine doing next door? I wonder if she got lucky last night and she's just having some morning fun," Kitty mused to herself before shrugging her shoulders and turning the knob for the volume on her radio, "Might as well do her a solid and make sure the rest of the neighbors don't hear her."

This considerate act by her college-student neighbor only served to frustrate Liz even more as she crumpled on herself atop the bed and practically wept for sleep to take her.

Unfortunately the Sandman refused to offer his services and Liz was forced to begin her day, if only to try and find somewhere in her house where the awful music couldn't be heard. But of course, that thought was for naught.

Kitty and her older sister Marissa had lived next door for almost nine months now, and since then there was no such thing as peace in Casa da Liz.

The morning ruckus made by her neighbor would have sent her packing if Liz didn't have to carpool with Marissa to work. That, and her older brother Charlie was a selfish bastard who refused to even let her sleep on his couch for a weekend to recover some semblance of a normal sleep pattern. Jerk.

After creating a routine where Liz played some music of her own to counteract the wailing indie singer, Liz proceeded about her day, starting with the kitchen.

Lucky Charms had her name all over it and while she prepared her magical life-giving mug of Joe, she checked the messages on her answering machine which was currently flashing a big fifty-two on the screen.

Well, I was popular last night, she thought as she clicked the button.

"Hey Liz, its Charlotte, hope you're still alive and breathing while I've been gone. Your dad told me to tell you hi and that he misses you -"

"Charlotte, tell her she's the worst daughter in the world."

"Mr. Bennet, I don't think -"

"Don't think," her dad interjected, and Liz could practically see Charlotte rolling her eyes. "Just tell her. She doesn't deserve any sort of love from me." Her dad gave an overdramatic sniff. "She abandoned me with her mother again, when exactly is she coming home?"

"I don't know Mr. B, how about I ask her then -"

"No let me -"

"Mr. B, do you mind I'm kind of -"

A beep interrupted this time, and Liz couldn't resist the urge to shake her head in bemusement.

"Okay, sorry about that Liz. It's Charlotte again." She gave a sigh in exhaustion. "I swear Liz, your dad's like a big kid sometimes. Honestly, I think he's forgetting how annoying work is. But then again, he's been retired for the past five years so I don't think he even knows what the word 'minion' is, I mean seriously, I think we should just move to the farm with him and your mom, they're so chilled now that they're here. Anyway. Since your parents want to know, I'll risk getting my head chewed out by you to ask when you're planning to visit Hertfordshire again."

"They don't ask Charlie and Lydia where they are every few months," Liz pointed out to the answering machine as she shoveled a spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth before draining her coffee.

As if Charlotte heard her, she answered, "And they've already complained to Charlie and Lydia a few days ago. I think they're just bugging big on you because you don't answer your phone."

Liz grumbled, "That's because I'm rarely at home, damn Catherine du Bourgh has me working like the slaves on the cotton farms."

"Mrs. B says if it's the case of work schedule you should consider giving her a number that isn't the retirement village hotline," Charlotte answered, "preferably yours."

"Hah, and have her go at me about how I'm pushing thirty and still don't have a husband even though I _work _at a wedding planning company? No thank you. I've already got freaking Caroline Bingley pointing that out every five minutes," Liz continued to grumble, "my mother should consider the fact that I don't instantly feel the need to jump everything with a male reproductive organ just to give her grandkids."

"She also wants you to tell Lydia not to send her phone-sex hotlines either."

She snorted into her coffee.

"Your dad says you're a traitor for leaving him with your mom for yet another month without seeing you, but as long as you come back for Halloween, you're still his little girl." There was a pause and in the background, Liz could hear her father's voice, "Don't say it like that damn it, you're making me sound like a pansy."

Charlotte snickered into the phone.

A smile pulled onto Liz's lips despite the almost painful mash up of torture-angst indie music and Nicki Minaj in the background. It was nice to know that some things didn't change.

Maybe mornings weren't entirely suck-ish.

.

So much for a good morning, Liam thought sourly as he scowled at the large window behind his father's desk as Darcy Senior rearranged stacks of files and papers around as if nothing was wrong. Damn it. Of course something was wrong! How dare that old man pretend he didn't just beat his only son senseless with that cane of his?

"I don't understand."

Brown eyes met him, a bushy brow of grey raised in question. "What's there to understand Fitzwilliam?"

"The fact that you congratulate me on securing the Goulding account and then tell me I'm not good enough to run your company." It was like loving and hugging an adorable puppy and then running it over. Twice. In reverse.

"Well that's a relatively simple answer."

A silence passed and Liam's eyes narrowed.

"Am I going to hear it or are you just going to leave me in suspense?"

"Now, now Fitzwilliam, there's no need to get sarcastic," Darcy Senior said, giving his son a look before laying his folded arms onto the shiny mahogany wood that was his desk. "I can't give you the company if you aren't serious about running it."

"How can I not be serious enough to run it? I've been securing major accounts for the past six years for you, what part of that says I'm not going to take being president of Pemberley seriously?"

"You may have all the business savvy available to you Fitzwilliam, but you and I both know that getting the accounts is only the first step. Keeping them is where the business lies."

"I didn't realize that my inability to prevent your clients from pulling out of investments was my problem," Liam couldn't help but answer which only earned him an annoyed look from his father. "Besides," he continued nonetheless, "none of mine have pulled out anyway. Shouldn't you be blaming the retreating clients on the staff that's supposed to keep them happy?"

"As you well know some have pulled out from Pemberley, though none of them were the accounts you secured," his father agreed, nodding sagely.

"Then why is it my problem?"

"Fitzwilliam, as the heir to the company, you are its face. You symbolize its future. The clients you have secured know you are capable of running Pemberley, however, those who know nothing of you other than your appearances in the tabloids…"

"Jane prevents all media fires from starting regarding me. I don't see how gossip tabloids can be a problem. You said she was the best after all."

"Oh she is, but she can only do so much for you when you give the tabloids enough ammunition," his father said flatly, reaching for a pile of newspapers at the far side of his desk and throwing it onto his son's lap from across the table. "Jane Cross is the best Public Relations based personal assistant I could get my hands on, but she's not God. She can't erase your actions caught by persistent photographers."

Liam didn't make front page news, but he did make it to the labeled Celebrity Gossip column.

Some newspapers only mentioned him in short snippets of his escapades with heiresses and the occasional socialite, but quite a few gossip based papers had photos of him gallivanting on his expensive yacht with a bunch of supermodels in the crystal blue waters of the Maldives, getting off his private jet with some B-list actress and him being surrounded by a bunch of scantily clad women in a questionable looking club.

"I hardly think what I do outside the boardroom is of any importance to your clients."

"Ah, and that is where you're wrong. Reputation," Darcy Senior declared, "is everything. And according to this, you aren't the type to take things seriously so until that changes you won't be getting presidency for a long time. Now if you don't mind Fitzwilliam, I have a company to run."

If his life had a soundtrack, Liam wondered if the song playing now would be called "Dismissed".

.

"So let me get this straight," Liz said as she and her neighbor/personal assistant Marissa Brandon entered the Fitzwilliam building. "John Willoughby left Marianne Dashwood at the alter?"

"Yep, I left like eighteen messages for you last night," Marissa said, "Didn't you get them?"

"I saw that I got messages, but after hearing the ones my parents left me and that drunken five Lydia sent me, I wasn't in the mood to hear the others," Liz replied, draining whatever liquid was left in the Styrofoam cup before dumping it in a bin they walked past.

"Well things got pretty messy at the wedding when they found out Willoughby wasn't going to show."

"How messy are we talking here? Like giving birth to twins on a bus messy or Jason went on a rampage massacre messy?"

Marissa winced. "I'm pretty sure it was like the two of those had a love child with down-syndrome."

"Ouch…"

"Yeah, and since Lady Catherine was overseas last night no one's had to own up to the lack of damage control…"

"You think Caroline is going to pin this on me?"

"You know her well enough to do it," her personal assistant said with a roll of her eyes, everything about the mousy girl's expression from her thinned lips to her exaggerated eye roll said exactly what everyone in Rosings Wedding Planners thought of Caroline Bingley: Predictable and self-serving.

"Huh, well it's a good thing I have an alibi then doesn't it?"

Her companion nodded as they entered the Fitzwilliam Building and added, "It wasn't even your wedding to handle in any case; Caroline took it from under you."

"Mm, and now the disaster of a wedding is going to put her on head."

"Ooh, are you guys talking about the runaway groom?" Lydia Bennet, Liz's younger sister asked, joining them in the elevator. "Caroline's definitely in for it."

"I doubt she'll really pay the price though," Marissa said, clicking the button for their floor.

Scoffing, Lydia declared, "Why not, the whole wedding would've been better if it fell into an active volcano!"

"That may be true, but Caroline's father is Lady Catherine's old man booty call. There's no way she'll get fired," Liz said with a roll of her eyes. "It's why Caroline didn't get fired when she slept with whatsherface's fiancé in the bridal suite at the last wedding she worked."

"That isn't fair," Lydia said, her lip twisted into a scowl, "I came to work late last week and I'm on probation – given warnings and everything!"

"That's because you're always late Lydia," Marissa stated flatly.

"Oh, by the way, congrats on getting here on time sis, it almost seems like you're growing up."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever; it was only because Kitty's music woke me from my hangover and since the last time I don't have any money to pay for property damage." The older women at her side only snickered as the elevator dinged, reaching its floor.

Interns were running around like headless chickens, loose papers from the printer practically falling from the ceiling like they were in a snow-globe while junior and senior staff alike was heard throughout the floor wailing about one thing or other.

Grimacing Marissa and Lydia allowed Liz to step out first and just as expected, Liz went to bitch mode. "What in the hell is going on here?"

Everyone froze and the indoor snow practically stopped midair.

"I'm waiting." With her dark hair tied in a tight bun behind her head, her expensive tailored pants suit, the severe frown on her usually smiling ruby red lips and the angry flickering of her hazel eyes; Liz Bennet knew how to strike fear into the hearts of her subordinates.

A beat passed and somewhere in the background someone dared to cough.

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't care to know why all of you are running around like your asses are on fire, but I want you all back to work immediately. Just because one wedding went epically wrong doesn't give any of you permission to be completely useless, in fact, it just leaves more room for mistakes and problems for the other weddings we're working so reattach your brains into your skulls and get back to work."

Everyone stood still for a moment and Liz rolled her eyes again.

"Did I stutter? Get to work; do you really want to explain to Lady Catherine why we're leaving ourselves open for another debacle like last night? Get going now!"

There was movement again and everyone scattered, the panicked energy renewed with a sense of purpose if not frantic fear of inciting displeasure from their boss, whom they referred to as "Lady" Catherine, and if anything no one wanted to displease her second in command, Liz Bennet either.

.

Liam was incredibly annoyed. No. He was pissed.

The elevator dinged and he entered his penthouse, Liam stripped himself of his blazer and threw his BlackBerry somewhere on the sofa. As he paced the length of the living room, he made the childish decision to give his father as much PR hell as possible. Jane would probably have him strung up by his toes, but damn it all if his father thought that he could control him.

All those pitiful looks he received in the office after his interview with his father flashed in his mind's eye and Liam knew his knuckles had turned white.

A vague plan of spending the rest of the day in some high priced club where he would literally throw money around flitted into his mind and just as he was about to make his way back to the elevator to do just that, he heard a cupboard close loudly.

His brow furrowed.

The receptionist didn't say anything about a guest.

Inwardly he groaned as he realized it might be the woman from last night, still in his penthouse.

Dear lords, don't make me have to fire Estelle, Liam thought as he stalked into the large kitchen through a swinging door.

Instead of finding the red headed woman that he awoke in bed with, Liam found himself blinking at the sight of his friend, George Wickham sitting on the counter with armfuls of food, a string of sausages hanging from his mouth.

George looked up from chewing and gave him a wave with a baguette in his other hand.

"Hey Liam, fancy seeing you here," he greeted cheerfully before continuing to chow down on the microwave meat he stole from Liam's fridge.

"What are you doing here George?" Liam asked in exasperation. He really wasn't in the mood to entertain his friend at the moment.

"I was hungry."

"That doesn't explain why you -"

The other male burst out laughing. "Yeah, munchies'll do that to you!"

Liam stared at him in bewilderment before his brain processed the spaced out, glassy expression of his companion. "Oh gods, you're baked aren't you?"

George continued to laugh to himself as he jumped off the counter, though ended up falling and dropping the food in his arms. After groaning for a minute, he brushed himself off before climbing back onto the counter and crawling over the breakfast nook and before falling on the other side where the floor was carpeted instead of tiled. He gave a happy sigh and declared, "Yeah, that's better!"

"Definitely baked," Liam said to himself, reaching a hand to rub his temples.

Walking around the counter, Liam's eyes rolled in annoyance. "George, for gods' sake," he grumbled, grabbing the ketchup the other man was holding like a pen as he painted the wall with red sauce.

"Aw, come on Liam, I was making such a pretty picture."

"I don't care George; Estelle will have my ass if you stain the wall."

"Don't be such a spoilt sport Liam," George ordered with a deliriously happy smile as he draped himself on the taller man's shoulder, offering him one of the food products George had taken from his fridge "Here," he said, "have a cookie."

"George, that's a carrot."

Looking at the object in his hand, he furrowed his brow. "I knew you were oddly shaped. Silly stick, you aren't a cookie." He continued to stare at the vegetable in his hand before bursting into tears. "Why aren't you a cookie?"

Liam sighed.

And this morning was looking so good too.

**A/n: **As you can see, I've already changed quite a few things about the characters of Pride and Prejudice. For example, Mary, Kitty and Jane are not related to Lizzy and instead she and Bingley are related along with Lydia. I've also changed Mary's name to Marissa …it was because of a conversation I had with a friend since neither of us actually know anyone named Mary.

George Wickham will not be cast as a bad guy because frankly I can't stand having to read through another rape plot-device in P&P modern verse.

Thanks for reading, should I continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Recap: Liam is extremely annoyed when his meeting with his father does not go the way he hopes while Liz is faced with a possible disaster in the form of Caroline Bingley's flop of a job at the Dashwood-Willoughby wedding.

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Cupid

Chapter two

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It wasn't often that Liz found wedding preparations trying. After all, she did this for a living. She found some thrill in saving disasters and giving orders like a drill sergeant to help someone get their dream wedding and so she normally enjoyed finding speed-bumps and problems, and then fixing them accordingly. It made her life interesting.

However, this particular couple was too interesting for even Liz.

"I don't think that's necessary Edward. I know you and your father don't get along, but he's the only family you have. Giving a specific order to block him from our wedding is excessive even if you don't want him to be there."

"I don't need him there Jane, for goodness' sake; you saw the woman he tried to marry me off to, didn't you? And why on earth do you feel the need to invite that insipid aunt and cousin of yours, are you out of your mind?"

"They're the only family I know," the young lady argued, "I may not love them, but they did take care of me."

"Locking you in a haunted room for hours on end in the middle of the night is hardly what I would call 'taking care' of you," her future husband scoffed, his tightly curled fist resting on his thigh, the knuckle losing color faster and faster by the second as his scowl grew.

Admittedly, this couple was like every other on their arrival albeit more odd a pair than she had ever seen.

The groom was not the most handsome man Liz had ever seen, he was brood shouldered and built, but his height was almost the same as the young lady he intended to marry. He was at least ten years his fiancée's senior and appeared to be proud, stubborn and occasionally rude either because he was wealthy and felt he could be, or because he preferred it to false pretenses. Edward Rochester was also a man of many issues thanks to his dysfunctional family – from what Liz gathered his father had tried to marry him off to some Cuban woman to solidify a business deal, and though the woman was beautiful it was in proportion to how crazy she was.

The blushing bride, Liz stereotypically mused, was going to be some blown up plastic doll. Imagine her surprise when Jane Eyre walked in. The young lady wasn't particularly small, but there was something about the willowy frame and the wide-eyed stare that made her seem decidedly fragile; like a scared little fairy which from what Liz surmised, wasn't too far from the truth. The basic story Liz figured, was that she was orphaned and left in the care of an unfeeling aunt who allowed her children to isolate and humiliate her.

Both parties it seemed, had their share of personal struggle, but getting married was never one of them.

Liz recalled their first consultation with a smile.

If she were worried about the truth of the two's impending nuptials, it dissipated at their careful affection and intense stares. As odd and damaged as Mr. Rochester and Miss Eyre appeared to be, they had found happiness in each other, and for Liz that was the dream.

Thanks to the couple's deep understanding of one another and willingness to compromise with each other, working their wedding had been easy at this point. It seemed they both differed greater than usual when it came to the guest list which was no doubt the hardest part considering they had chosen to do it last.

"Well how about Rivers than, can we invite him?"

"You're ex-boyfriend? Please tell me you're joking."

"We were never together Edward," she said in exasperation, "how many times do I have to tell you? I was just friends with his sisters."

Rochester threw his hands up. "Then we'll invite his sisters!"

"They live together; it would be rude to invite them and not him too!"

"Rivers lives and works in a parish, what, do you want me to invite his congregation too?"

Another screaming match was going to start soon which was rare because Rochester was rarely one to raise his voice and his fiancée was pretty lenient when disputes got too heated.

Time to play referee, Liz thought, clearing her throat loudly. "If I may interrupt?"

A minimal distraction was all Jane needed to remember where she was, and she looked to Liz with an embarrassed flush while her husband-to-be merely grunted and crossed his arms in a huff. "What is it?" he demanded gruffly, the amount of arguing he and his bride had been doing obviously getting him more irritated than usual.

"I know that agreeing on a guest list can be difficult, but I have a solution if you're willing to consider it," Liz began diplomatically, flashing a reassuring smile.

Before Rochester could disagree, Jane jabbed him with her elbow. "Anything to get us through this would be appreciated Miss Bennet."

"Well as you have already planned a very intimate and private ceremony, wouldn't it suit you both to just have a Justice of the Peace and a few close friends of yours to act as witnesses? It seems like you're trying to make amends with the past Miss Eyre by inviting both your families, but with all due respect, your wedding is supposed to be the start of your future. If these people have done nothing but bring you bad memories, honoring those who have brought you good ones would suit better for a day as momentous as your wedding, don't you think?"

The couple looked to each other, contemplating, before Rochester spoke, "She is right my love, the only reason I don't want them there at the wedding is because I'm worried that they'll do nothing but stir up trouble. Is it really so bad to be married with only me, Adele and Mrs. Fairfax present?"

"And the Justice of the Peace," Liz tacked out at the end and at Rochester's eye roll, the wedding planner smiled sheepishly.

"No, I guess not… I just wanted them to be there so I can show them that we can be happy no matter what they've done to us," Jane trailed, a smile growing as her fiancé drew her close and kissed her temple. "I suppose I can show you off some other time. Our wedding is about us after all."

"Mm, definitely, and when we decide to leave our honeymoon suite, I'll gladly organize some sort of lavish party and invite everyone so we can rub our happiness in their faces," Rochester declared, nuzzling her cheek with a chuckle.

With the heart of the argument sorted, the bride and groom agreed to have the final guest list emailed to Marissa for confirmation. After which, Jane had to verify some final issues with the flowers and as soon as she left the room, Rochester turned to Liz sternly.

"I want to thank you."

Really?

"Don't do it yet sir," Liz replied, "we still have to get through the actual wedding."

"Considering you've managed to get rid of mine and Jane's family from any further discussion, I think we're basically golden."

"Well that's good to hear. But just in case any of them try to gate-crash, I'll have security notified and on alert until you and Mrs. Rochester are safely at your honeymoon destination," she assured with a firm nod.

"Good." Rochester said, looking infinitely pleased by the mention of his soon-to-be wife, in fact it seemed to put him in such a good mood that he even complimented her, "With you at the helm of our wedding, I have no doubt that it should go off without a hitch."

Liz smiled. "They don't call me Cupid for nothing."

.

"Oh for gods' sake George," Liam grunted as he tried to pull the fire-hose from him. "Let go!"

"No! It's a snake, you let go; it'll bite you! I'm trying to save your life damn it!" His friend argued, but Liam was stronger and managed to pull most of it away. "Stop trying to be the hero!" George continued to wail making one last desperate attempt to pull the fire-hose away.

In irritation, Liam assented, "Fine, take it!"

With his hold released and George still tugging, the pot-high young man literally flew into the direction he was pulling from, the fire-hose tangling in his legs and sending him immobile on the floor.

"Oh gods, I'm going to die. I'm going to die." Looking up at Liam with tear filled eyes, George pleaded, "Tell my father I love him, and-and tell my mother that she's a bitch and that I won't bail her new husband out of jail and oh, tell my dealer I won't need any more herbal relaxation." The last request sent him to sobbing hysterics and Liam rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't worry; I'll make sure your dealer knows not to give you anymore Mary-Jane."

George continued to sob on the floor while Liam worked on putting the fire-hose back onto the wall in the hallway when the elevator dinged.

Cursing, Liam grabbed George by his ankles and dragged him into the kitchen, intent on hiding his body from whoever had decided to drop by his penthouse at such a time as this.

It must be Jane, he thought, his personal assistant must be pretty pissed at him for dodging work after his conversation with his father and there would be no doubt she would be just as upset once she found him hanging out with 'that druggie' again.

"Wickham, get up man!" he hissed, forcing his friend onto his feet.

Moans and grumbles of protest answered him as George outright refused to come down to earth and instead choose to drape himself over his taller companion as the sleepy part of his marijuana-high kicked in. Liam grumbled profanities under his breath as he tried to support his drowsy friend, though it didn't help much because George was unconsciously swaying to and fro.

And it was this sight that greeted Charlie Bennet as he stepped into the kitchen of Liam's penthouse.

"Am I interrupting some sort of dance class?"

Since it was not Jane that had invaded into his apartment, Liam had immediately let George go, allowing him to flop onto the carpeted floor by the breakfast nook in a heap of human limbs and messy, dirty blonde hair.

Charlie sniggered at the accompanying groan and looked to Liam with a cocked brow. "What, no 'this isn't what it looks like' speech?"

"The only time I will ever dance with George is when he's too high to walk," he answered flatly, stepping over the prone body of their friend.

"Why, so he can't say no?" Charlie asked, laughing outright at his own joke.

"I'm sorry, what is it that you do when you get blasted out of your mind?" his companion asked, though it was obviously a rhetorical question as he chose to answer himself, "Oh yes, you sing karaoke at the top of your lungs while stripping down to your boxers regardless of the when-and-where." Opening the fridge, Liam rummaged inside. "Sometimes I wonder if you just can't handle your alcohol or in your less than sober state you delude yourself into thinking you're taking crack."

"Well let's face it, if George and I were normal you wouldn't nearly live as much."

"I can be wild without you two," he stated, rolling his eyes and taking a swig of the milk he'd taken out of the fridge.

"Mmhm, drinking milk right out of the carton, you're a bad man Liam Darcy."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he put the cap back on and said, "I am bad, look at me. It's three in the afternoon and I'm not at work."

"I assume as much," Charlie stated, leaning over the breakfast nook to watch George curl himself into the fetal position, thumb lodging itself into his mouth, "it is your break hour after all."

"Nope, I didn't go to work today so technically I'm not even on break."

This time Charlie looked at him in surprise. "_You _didn't go to work?"

He nodded casually, walking over to the sink to rinse a cloth and then walking over to one of the walls with questionable red liquid on it.

Charlie gapped. "Is that blood?"

"Don't be stupid." Before he could wipe it off, however, George awoke from his incapacitated state and leapt onto Liam's back, screaming bloody murder, "Don't touch my art! How dare you!"

"Oh hell," Charlie swore, running around the breakfast nook to grab George by his shoulders in an attempt to peel him off. "Come on Wickham, let him go!"

"No! No! No! He's destroying the beauty of my work! I must fight the man!"

"Its ketchup stains," Liam argued, moving around like an angry bull trying to remove its rider. "For the love of – George, get off me damn it!"

The elevator dinged once more admitting in Estelle, who, upon hearing the familiar noise of things being broken and yelps of "George, put the ketchup down -" the elderly housekeeper turned tail and muttered to herself, "I'll come back later."

.

"And another thing," Catherine De Bough added, "blah, blah, blah, blah…blah-blah, blah, blah, blah!"

Oh my gods, Liz thought rubbing her temple with her one hand. How much longer can this woman go?

A long time apparently, at least according to the number of times Marissa clicked her pen impatiently. It was truly unfortunate being someone's personal assistant on occasion, and by 'on occasion' she meant when "Lady" Catherine was on one of her many tirades.

As Liz's mousy, next-door-neighbor and assistant predicted, Catherine was severely displeased. And not just her normal displeased, but outright furiously displeased.

It had been over an hour now that their boss, the head honcho and owner of Rosings Wedding Planners had begun and there seemed to be no end in sight that didn't involve bashing your head into the table.

When it came to Lady C, it was you versus stamina versus sanity. It was a no win.

"So do either of you care to explain to me why the biggest wedding to date was handled so horrendously?" Catherine finally questioned, crossing her giant bosoms with her folded arms and making them pop wider.

"Ma'am, you can hardly account for him running away. Marianne Dashwood is frightfully dull," Caroline Bingley, a dyed red haired woman claimed, "you can't blame Johnny for wanting out."

"That's 'Mr. Willoughby' to you Caroline, have some professionalism," Liz grumbled, knowing all too well the reason why she was even here in the first place despite the fact that she had absolutely _nothing _to do with the aforementioned wedding. "Maybe if you weren't so familiar with _every _aspect of the wedding, none of this would have happened."

Caroline sneered, "Oh you're just looking for someone to blame aren't you Liz?"

"Why would I look when it was your responsibility in the first place, making you and only you at fault," she stated, "If you hadn't been dry humping the best man, telling one of the bridesmaids she was fat and using the security guard as a personal slave maybe _they _could've stopped Willoughby from leaving. Or at least warn Marianne that her husband-to-be took off instead of having her storming into the church ready to open hell."

"Liz if you knew all this was happening why didn't _you _do anything?" Catherine challenged eliciting an eye roll from the brunette.

"It wasn't my wedding to watch Mrs. De Bough, it was Caroline's."

"Well if you knew that everyone was _so _preoccupied, why didn't you come down to the church and fix everything!" The red haired woman demanded like an angry child as if it were Liz's mess to fix.

"_You _were hired, not me. It isn't my job to clean up that wedding, it was yours."

"So you admit that you knew that the wedding was a disaster!" As if Caroline had just had an 'ah-ha' moment, she practically cried to Lady Catherine, "I bet she was just so jealous she didn't get hired for the job that even though Liz knew what was going on, she let that beautiful wedding burn to the ground." Insert crocodile tears.

Liz's bullshit tolerance was already weakened thanks to Lady Catherine's hour long lecture and so she snapped, "Don't be ridiculous, even if I wasn't hired and didn't know the bride and groom, I would've helped. What kind of sick person allows someone's best-day-of-their-life to become their worst?"

"Well you did nothing to fix it. I didn't see you running around playing hero did I?"

"Considering you were too busy luring everything male, I'm sure you didn't. Besides, I didn't know about the fiasco until this morning."

Catherine looked at her with a furrowed brow, not believing that her second in command wasn't up to speed with such a debacle as soon as it occurred.

"How did you know about everything that happened then?" Caroline challenged, not noticing that she admitted guilt to Liz's earlier allegations.

"I had Marissa get me various eye-witness accounts for the wedding," she explained, "We need all the info to give to our Public Relations team to ensure our other clients don't bail out on us."

"So if you had time to get your mouse of a PA on hawk-duty before, during or after the wedding then how come you weren't there yourself?"

"I believe what I do outside of the office is none of your business. I was off the clock. Check the records. I'm allowed to get off at least once in a while and I was only gone for a day," Liz answered flatly giving Catherine a meaningful look with her dull eyes.

"Oh and you just happened to take a day off on the night of the Willoughby-Dashwood wedding? Sounds suspicious to me," Caroline claimed to the eye rolls of everyone in the room. Someone's been watching too much CSI.

"That's enough Caroline. You're dismissed. I'll have a word with Liz."

Despite the fact that Lady Catherine did not announce at least a tidbit of the torture she had in mind for the brunette bane of her existence, Caroline was still pleased that she got off the hook and happily flounced out the room with a snap of her fingers to call her personal assistant and a flick of her red hair.

Liz nodded at Marissa as well and she too stood to leave, shutting the door quietly behind her.

With Caroline gone, Catherine moved around her desk to sit on the chair, dropping into the leather seat with an exhausted sigh.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with her Liz."

Liz's rigid posture slumped in near defeat as she sighed as well. "It's alright Mrs. De Bough, I've been through worse."

.

Jane Cross was pissed. And Jane Cross was very rarely pissed.

Stalking into her boss' penthouse, the personal assistant scanned the tastefully opulent home of her employer and heard the voice of the man she was looking for in the kitchen. "Mr. Darcy," she called in thinly veiled annoyance, feeling an odd rush at the curse words that were muttered, like the sound of a teenager being caught with a joint in their hand.

Her shoes tapped against the marble floors and as she entered the kitchen, Jane was determined to exude as much of a terrified force as possible. It lasted about three seconds before she saw the crimson covered wall.

Oh gods.

Mouth still gaping, Mr. Darcy and one of his friends stood covered in the same red liquid. His partner in whatever crime they had just committed smiled sheepishly while Mr. Darcy merely cleared his throat and greeted with his usual, "Problems Jane?"

The blood on the wall caused her to stutter. "W-what…"

The closet they stood beside opened and out popped a dead body.

"Oh my god," she shrieked.

Charlie panicked and rushed immediately to her side, trying his best to comfort her only to have her push his hands away in fear as she shouted, "Blood! You're covered in blood!"

"What?" He looked down at himself and realizing that the tomato sauce that George had attacked him and Liam with earlier, tried to explain the situation, "No, no see, not blood, ketchup!" Scoping up a bit on his shirt, he tasted it. "See, mm, ketchup, its good!"

"Vampire," Jane shrieked instead, hitting Charlie with the file she was carrying.

"Whoa, whoa, Jane, down, calm down!" Liam ordered, supporting the still unconscious George whom they had tried to hide in the closet.

"No I won't calm down," she declared, fighting in Charlie's hold once he managed to get the file away from her, "you were trying to hide a dead body!"

"It's not dead, I mean, _he_ isn't dead."

"Then why does he _look _dead? And why the heck is everything covered in ketchup?" Jane demanded, finally getting a grasp on the situation after her breathing calmed somewhat.

"Oh yeah, well, he's kind of…high," Charlie answered and at her look, he held up a hand in surrender, "he was like that when I got here!"

A vein in Jane's head throbbed. I don't get paid enough.

.

"So do you mind telling me where the hell you've been for the past six hours?" Jane asked impatiently twenty minutes later as they all gathered in the living room, "Your father is absolutely furious!"

"Not as furious as I am," Liam countered.

"Well what on earth do you have to be furious about?" his blonde personal assistant demanded once more, the shot of Vodka Charlie had given her to soothe her nerves loosening her tongue, "My house got broken into and for some reason the only thing missing is my TV remote and now every time I'm watching TV the person who stole my remote changes the channel!"

"Whoa…sadistic," George remarked, still spacey as he lounged upside down on the sofa.

Her boss scoffed. "As tragic as that is; it does little compared to the fact that my father doesn't think I'm mature enough to run the company."

"Can you blame him? After your less than stellar conversation with the man, you ditched work with every intention to sulk about how you _are _mature, which is contradictory in every way, just so you know," Jane remarked, downing another glass and making a face at the burning at the back of her throat. "I don't know how you can spend nights drinking Darcy, it's masochistic."

Heaving a sigh, Liam sunk into the sofa beside George. "Well successfully securing accounts, attending meetings and impressing board members are apparently unsatisfactory to prove to him that I am capable to run Pemberley."

Charlie sighed as well, leaning forward on his knees and eying his friend. "Liam, it isn't a question of capability, its reliability that your dad is worried about."

"Listen to the Ginger," George suggested, "he may not have a soul, but he speaks from experience."

"Your dad?" Liam inquired to the 'Ginger', though really Charlie was hardly ginger, he was fair haired though there were some odd red tints in it for some reason.

"The law firm I inherited isn't even mine until he deems me a man, even though he's given me the reigns it's his name rather than mine."

"How'd you prove to him you were a man?"

George's eyes bulged. "Charlie's a man?" Turning to his friend, he asked, "How could you go through puberty and not tell me? What horrible people you are, leaving me out of the loop." The two men rolled their eyes before Charlie answered the question presented to him:

"I haven't actually done it yet, but so long as I'm being responsible he doesn't have anything to doubt. He'll cave eventually."

"You don't know my father," Liam stated in a grimace, "if he thinks I can't handle it, he'll make sure I'll never have to, even if it means handing the family business to someone else."

"You don't think he'd really do that do you?" Jane asked.

"He can and he will."

George fixed himself right way up, sitting Indian style and smiling like a cat. "Well there's only one solution then Liam: You gotta get hitched."

All heads snapped in his direction. "What?"

.

"I'm sorry; you want me to do what?"Liz demanded, trying to convert the shout into a hiss. "You can't be serious."

"Come on sis, you're the best person for the job."

Of course he'd say that. Her brother wasn't a good lawyer for nothing. The guy was smooth, knew when to kiss ass and how, and just when you were lured in SNAP you were trapped and dead. Her older brother invited her to an early lunch at the Bell Tower, her favorite restaurant, and even sent a car to pick her up from work.

Liz should've known there were strings attached.

"Charlie, I'm a wedding planner not Cupid. What makes you think I can find Darcy a woman to stand him let alone marry him? Have you met him? He's an arrogant, conceited dillhole with stick up his -" Behind her, someone coughed. "And he's right behind me isn't he?"

"Hello to you to Elizabeth," Liam answered in a bored tone, taking the empty seat across from her while his personal assistant, a pretty blonde took the empty one across from Charlie; both new arrivals attired immaculately in boardroom gear, looking equally dour and painfully professional.

"Well my day just sucked a lot more," she responded dryly and at the cool, blue eyed stare of the man before her, Liz sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can someone please explain to me why I'm being ambushed by the Corporates?"

"Because Darcy needs your help," her brother answered eliciting a grumble from his friend.

"I don't need _her _help, I just need a wife."

"Yeah, then I agree," she said, "he doesn't need me, he needs Jesus."

"Lizzy, come on," Charlie pleaded, "you of all people know how marriage and romance works; can't you just lend him a hand?"

"I don't know; what kind of help do you _actually _need here because I don't do kidnapping."

"A wife Elizabeth or does the term elude you?" Liam asked sarcastically to the narrowing of her eyes and the angry flush to her cheeks.

"I'm a wedding planner," she repeated, "not Cupid."

"But they call you that don't they Miss Bennet?" the blonde woman inquired, still managing to sound professional despite the fact that she looked pretty exhausted herself.

On her lap, propped against the table, Jane had her iPad out, the page on the web browser displaying the Rosings Wedding Planner website. After scanning the page before her, she noted, "Catherine De Bough, the founder and owner of the most popular wedding planning company speaks highly of your abilities and all the weddings you've worked have come out complete successes. I believe you received the nickname Cupid for not only ensuring the smooth running of every wedding, but also because none of the couples you've assisted have yet to divorce."

Liz stared at her blankly for a second. "I do my job. The divorce thing isn't dependent on me."

"No, but some of your clients have said that you suggested couples' therapy, retreats, etc. to sort out any bumps you foresaw during your consultations with them which according to them, improved their relationship with each other."

"Again, not my doing," she diverted, "I just suggested it."

"Now there's no need to be modest sis. You know how love works!"

"Funny then, how she's still single," Liam remarked dryly.

"That is completely by choice," Liz retorted, "and do you really want to get smart with the person helping you get hitched? I could hook you up with the most horrible person ever and you'd be stuck with them forever."

To her disgust, he replied flatly, "It's called divorce."

"If that's how you feel, then I won't help you. I do have a record to keep Darcy."

"Oh come on Liz," Charlie wailed, "you have to help him. He's got to prove to his dad that he's mature enough to run Pemberley, you'd help me if I could somehow prove to dad that _I'm _man enough to run the firm!"

"But he isn't my brother Charlie," she argued.

"Yeah, but we were all childhood friends, even you two! I know you guys aren't close anymore, but do him this one solid!"

With her elbow propped on the table, Liz rubbed her closed eyelids and suppressed a groan. "First tell me what genius came up with this marrying idea?"

"George."

"Was he baked?"

Her three companions didn't even have to look at each other as they answered in unison, "Yes."

"And you guys are taking the advice of a space cadet," Liz said to herself in disbelief. "Dear lord Darcy, you really must be desperate."

**A/n: **So I was seriously surprised at the response to the story, and though the interest was stronger than Sibling Intervention in its early stages, I can't say I'll update much until Sibling Intervention is complete though I will try and update at least once every two weeks or so.

One question regarding the actual setting of the story: UK or US, I say neither…I'm from neither so I can't exactly use a particular place with confidence so I'll just make up places as the story goes along. Welcome to Austendome ladies and gents!

Thanks for reading, any dislikes, favorites or suggestions?


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